


To the night

by EmmaSpencer



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: But has no idea about emotions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Fluff, Greg is working on a case, Greg's dream comes true, Idiots in Love, M/M, Matchmaker Sherlock, Mycroft is undercover, Mycroft solves everything, Mycroft's undercover job is interesting, Protective Greg, Sherlock abandoneds Greg, Young Mycroft Holmes/Young Greg Lestrade, fisrt kiss, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 22:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15496056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaSpencer/pseuds/EmmaSpencer
Summary: “Haven’t seen him in a week. Have you seen him?” he showed the picture of the latest victim, the one that the public didn’t know about yet."Sorry mate. Mike's on the stage, you can talk to him after the show." he put a glass in front of him. "On the house.""Cheers." he quickly drained it. He turned his eyes to the stage and dropped the glass seeing the young man. "Oh, clumsy me...terribly sorry.""Never mind..." he waved. Greg barely dared to look back at the stage, but when he looked again Mycroft was without his suit jacket and was about the take off his waistcoat.





	To the night

Greg paced in front of the building. It was late, Sherlock was late and the place was a night club. A place that he never had nor wanted to visit, but the current case forced him to venture to the night. It started with one body in the dumpster, but soon more and more followed. The lead led them to the night scene of gay clubs, to this one particularly since the most victim was last seen here. His phone pinged, the text read that Sherlock can't come, but he should go and talk to Mike; the informer. Greg paced a bit more, kicked a rock away forcefully to persuade himself to go in. He in his university years visited these king of places frequently, now days not thinking back at his conquests with pride. He smoothed down his shirt and stepped in.  
"Hi." he got to the bar.  
"Hello yourself." someone cooed next to him.  
"Oh...hello." he mumbled shifting uncomfortably.  
"Where were you hiding gorgeous?" he continued.  
"I..." he rather turned to the barely dressed bartender. “I'm looking for someone called Mike."  
"Who is asking?"  
"Greg...I thought he might know something about my little brother, they were friends..."  
"Is he..." Greg sighed and lowered his head.   
“Haven’t seen him in a week. Have you seen him?” he showed the picture of the latest victim, the one that the public didn’t know about yet.  
"Sorry mate. Mike's on the stage, you can talk to him after the show." he put a glass in front of him. "On the house."  
"Cheers." he quickly drained it. He turned his eyes to the stage and dropped the glass seeing the young man. "Oh, clumsy me...terribly sorry."  
"Never mind..." he waved. Greg barely dared to look back at the stage, but when he looked again Mycroft was without his suit jacket and was about the take off his waistcoat. How many times he fantasized about Mycroft without clothing. He throw his tie down, he was glad he got rid of it, it wasn't complementing his hair Greg thought. He determined to remember every second of it, if he had the luck of seeing him, he shouldn't waste it. Mycroft slowly unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it down his shoulders, exposing his white skin under it, he smiled seeing the red hair on his chest and trailing down from his belly button. His mouth went dry when the shirt landed on the floor. "Freckles." he drunk in the sight, not realising that he said it out loud.  
"He could have covered it up with foundation, spoils the enjoyment." the man sitting next to him mumbled. "No idea why they still keep him..." Greg clenched his fist and swallowed his words; Mycroft was perfection in his eyes, every hair, every freckle where it should be. But his neighbour didn't stop expressing his opinion. "If I'd be the one killing and dumping them in the dumpsters, he'd be the next." he drunk out the bottle. "Off with him!" he yelled and threw the bottle, which hit Mycroft on the head. Greg jumped off the chair, but before he could do anything a hand was firmly placed on his shoulder; he looked back with frustration.  
"The bouncer will take care of it." the bartender reassured him. "You won't benefit from a fight."  
"Thanks mate." he took deep breaths to get rid of his anger, which gave place to anxiety. "I'm a doctor, it seemed like he was bleeding." he mumbled turning to him. "I can check on him."  
"Thanks, come this way." he led Greg to the back. Mycroft was sitting hunched on a chair, pressing a blood soaked shirt to his forehead. He didn't realise that they came in.  
"My?"  
"What?" he tried to hide that they startled him.  
"Brought someone to look at you."  
"Haven't they seen enough?"  
"Your head My."   
"Oh...sorry." he looked up, his face was covered in blood. "Oh..." his eyes grew wide spotting Greg.  
"Know him?"  
"Saw him in the audience...told you I'm not doing private shows."  
"I know, not for now." Greg started to have a really bad feeling. "He is Greg and a doctor, just his head...” he turned to Greg. “I got to go back."  
"Thanks." Mycroft sighed. "Gregory." he whispered when they remained alone.  
"Should I ask?" he fetched a clean towel and wetted it.  
"It's just a temporary occupation change." Greg wiped the blood off his face. "It's just a superficial cut."  
"Better go to the hospital." he sighed. "I think it needs to be stitched up...it keeps bleeding Mycroft." he put a quick bandage on it.  
"What are you doing here?" Mycroft asked holding his head between his hands.  
"Sherlock said he had an informer here."  
"Who?"  
"Mike."  
"Don't call me that!" he snapped. "Sorry." he sighed closing his eyes.  
"Get dressed." he collected his clothes. "I call a cab."  
"Here." he handed him his phone. "Anthea." he slowly started to get dressed. "Help!" he whispered when he couldn't manage the buttons.  
"On it." Greg helped him get dressed. "You got out of them really gracefully." he smiled at him.  
"You watched it?" Mycroft’s eyes grew even wider.  
"Where else could I look?" he chuckled and helped his coat on him.   
"You...what...it..." he mumbled.   
"We talk once out. Which way?"  
"Front door." Greg wrapped his arms around him to keep him up.  
"Is he okay?"  
"No, the wound needs stitching up, he feels weak and dizzy...I think it's a concussion."  
"Need a cab?"  
"Called one already, thanks."  
"When do you think he can get back?"  
"Few days."  
"I'll be here tomorrow, it's not as bad as the good doctor said." Mycroft waved. "See you tomorrow."  
"You are not working tomorrow...it's your day off."  
"Is it? Hmmm..."  
"Better rest My. Take care."   
"Thanks." he mumbled leaning on Greg for support.  
"This is us I presume." a cab was in front of the door.  
"Sir?" the driver asked when they got in.  
"I'm okay Arthur, thank you."  
"Hospital?"  
"In deed." Greg answered before Mycroft could detest. "And you are not coming back, you'll end up in a bin just like the others..."  
"Are you worried for me?"  
"I know you are undercover or whatever but..."  
"It's work, just like yours...maybe a bit more important." he retorted.  
"You must stay away from that place. That boss of yours is…"  
"That is for my other boss to say, it is as important as you hunting down the killer.”  
“Why? What are you doing?”  
“Not telling.” he mumbled "Anyways why do you care what happens to me?"  
"Why do I care? You are Sherlock's brother...also I wouldn't wish anyone to get harmed."  
"Oh...okay." he mumbled. "The bin man is the bartender...why call him that? It is really stupid if you ask me."  
"The press did." Greg sighed. "No way of getting rid of it.  
"Just give me a week to finish my job, please...then you can take him. My job is more important…"  
"Can not do that, sorry." Greg shook his head.  
"But my work...I bared this for nothing!" he yelled.  
"You gave a good performance and made their day or night...so not for nothing." he risked, Mycroft gave out a noise scaring Greg.  
"We are here." the driver saved him.  
"Oh, good." Greg sighed, he helped Mycroft out of the car.   
"I'm not forgiving this to you." he grunted.  
"Saving your life? I think I can live with it." he shrugged and handed him to the nurses.

"Hi." Greg stepped to the room the next afternoon.  
"What have you done?"  
"Talked with your real boss and closed down the place, arresting the ones that should be. Of course you were the one solving it...you get the glory and..."  
"Nothing." he mumbled. "So I..."  
"You bared men staring at your body in order to solve a big case…no two cases!" he sat down. "It could have been worse."  
"I haven't done anything else." he whispered.  
"He wanted you to do...that was another reason why I didn't want you to go back."  
"You are not my boss, nor my mother."  
"Just your friend."  
"As a friend you could have had the decency not to stare."  
"I was already there, why not watch the show." he shrugged.  
"Because you know me."  
"I wish." he sighed.  
"What?"  
"Hmm? Nothing."  
"You...you..."  
"Mycroft." he sighed. "You obviously know it, even Sherlock does. He wouldn't send me there and abandon me other way..."  
"I'm confused...you are interested in me?"  
"Why do you think I want you to be safe?"  
"Don't know." he whispered not looking at him.  
"I let you rest." Greg stood up, feeling pointless to continue the conversation. Mycroft obviously didn’t want him around.  
"No! Please stay." he whispered   
"Okay." he smiled and sat back. They sat in silence for quite a while   
"Weren't you disgusted?"  
"By what?"  
"Me...my body. I worked out to get in...they said I'm not that good looking but, I have something…He just wanted me for the back stage work...so..." he mumbled staring at his hands.  
"I broke the glass when I spotted you."   
"Meaning?" he tilted his head. Greg chuckled seeing it, the most brilliant man on the world had no idea when he got a compliment, nor how to realise when someone cared for him; making Greg wonder what kind of people he encountered before. He smiled at him softly.  
"You are gorgeous; freckles everywhere...red hair...blue eyes like a stormy sky." he whispered leaning closer. "I fantasized a lot about you getting undressed in front of me..." Mycroft cupped his face and kissed him. "And about this too." he smiled when they parted.  
"I don't just want a one night stand...I know it's hard to imagine but I'm not the type..."  
"I wouldn't think of that. I told you I want to get to know you...you Mycroft Holmes. The brilliant, sexy read head who captured my heart."  
"I saw you at the bar to be honest." he mumbled.   
"And?"  
"And I didn't run." he leaned closer and kissed his nose making Greg chuckle.  
"What are you, teenagers?" Sherlock snorted.  
"Sherlock? Why have you done this? My mission got ruined..."  
"Sure, sure…It is closed and you stopped moping over each other. I had enough of Lestrade's face...not to mention yours."  
"What's wrong with my face?" Mycroft whined.  
"Nothing My." Greg stroked his face. "Nothing at all."  
"I go before I throw up." he rolled his eyes.  
"Thank you Sherlock." Mycroft whispered.  
"Just don't ever kiss in front of me." he sighed dramatically before he left them. Mycroft started to chuckle, then Greg joined in too.


End file.
